Warmth
by ReiKingdom
Summary: The night after Kristoph Gavin's execution is cold. One man seeks warmth. Another man has some to spare. Set during Dual Destinies. Written as platonic, but ambiguous enough to be pre- Phoenix/Klavier. Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Family(?), Friendship(?), Romance(?) -honestly it all just depends on how you view their relationship- /multi-chapter, on hiatus/ (also on Archive of Our Own)
1. Chapter 1

_Hey, Person of the internet._

 _This is my first fanfic so critique is appreciated!_

 _Also, I update in bursts, so you may get a whole bunch before periods of nothingness. (Sorry!)_

 _Anyway, this story idea just came to me so here it is!_

 _Onto the things that matter~_

* * *

Chapter 1  


It was a cold night.

Streets were empty and the soft hum of heaters could be heard if you walked close enough to apartment blocks. A frigid breeze swept up the sparse leaves and litter, catching on the wheel of a lone motorcycle that looked out of place in front of the quiet apartment complex.

...

"Please."

Warmth leaked out from the open doorway into the desolate hallway where a solitary man stood.

"It's the middle of the night, can't this wait until-"

 _"Please."_

The desperate sound of his voice sounded to both men. Something flickered in the older man's eyes, but it was there and gone so fast he wondered if he even saw it in the first place.

"Gavin."

The name almost made him flinch but his hands only tightened by his sides. The wound was too fresh and it burned just to hear that name. Because it was **_his_** name.

"Klavier."

At the sound of his name his head snapped up to stare into the older man's tired eyes. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly, as if he was smirking, reminiscent to his days before he retook the Bar.

"…Is it okay if I call you that?"

"I- Yes, I mean… Of course." He began haltingly, faltering at the pleasantness of the exchange. "Of course you can call me that… Herr Wright."

They hadn't had much reason for conversation. And Klavier's impact on the man's life hadn't exactly been positive. Even after his name was cleared and the truth heard, there hadn't been much cause for interaction, and if they found themselves in each other's presence (usually due to their mutual acquaintanceship of a certain red-vested attorney), they would pointedly ignore each other entirely, not that either of them had anything they wanted to say to each other anyway.

The older man chuckled, but it sounded so weary it was almost like a sigh.

"So what exactly did you come all the way here to talk about, Klavier? It's not like we're friends."

The admission stabbed him in the heart and he could feel his nails digging into his palms.

That's what he thought of him, huh? Did he think he hated him? That he didn't _want_ to talk? That he didn't _want_ to try to do something – anything – to make it up to him? That all he'd wanted to do was to tell him, talk to him, about what he did? How he felt? How screwed up **_that man_** made both of their lives? And that now **_he_** was—

His mouth moved before he had the chance to sort all his complicated emotions.

"I _wanted_ to. I-" He swallowed the dry lump in his throat and tried to get his thoughts to catch up. "I had, I mean- I was always trying. Trying to- to do _something_ , just-"

He closed his eyes tightly and willed the tears away. He wasn't used to being so uncertain.

The silence felt so cold.

He inhaled deeply with his head bowed. It seemed so loud in the empty hallway.

"May I…?"

He internally winced at his hesitance. **_His_** voice laughed at him from the confines of his mind.

 _'Pathetic,'_ It whispered, _'my poor pathetic little brother.'_

At the lack of response, his head instantly snapped up and his previously clenched hand flew up to grab at the other man's arm, tear-glazed eyes locking with startled a startled pair and mouth opening to say something, but the words died in his throat.

He clenched his jaw and looked down, but he didn't let go.

"I-" he tried. To say something. To apologise. Anything.

His eyes clenched together. His hand tightened.

"I don't- I can't be… alone. Right now. I-"

What he wanted right now the most was-

"I don't want to be alone."

The words came out and a the oppressive weight on his chest lifted.

He breathed in.

He felt the warmth from inside for the first time that night. If only for a little while.

The voice in response was blank. But it wasn't uninviting.

"Come in."

He opened his eyes to kind eyes and a small smile.

He let go of his arm.

The door opened wider and he stepped in.

It felt warm.

…

But only a little.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

 _(Hope that wasn't too bad for a first try...)_

Please leave a review to tell me what I could do to improve or just tell me that it sucked! _(or it didn't.)_

Honesty appreciated!

TBC

~Rei K.


	2. Chapter 2

_Hey, my dear Person of the internet!_

 _Wow, you're actually reading more than one chapter?_

 _Guess I don't suck too much..._

 _Oh right! This story switches between Klavier and Phoenix's perspectives, and this time its Wright!_

 _(*ahem* Ignore that... *mumbles* Terrible pun...)_

 _Anyway..._

 _Onto the story~_

* * *

Chapter 2

It was a cold night.

He had the heating on high, and was crashing on the couch. He could get through next morning with a sore back, what he was really worried about was– well.

He frowned up at the ceiling. It had been rough leading up to today.

So when he heard the hesitant knock on his apartment door, he was half-surprised and half not to see a disheveled and out-of-place looking Klavier Gavin head bowed and fidgeting in his doorway.

...

He was surprised when he'd asked to talk to him.

He was even more surprised when he'd spoken in such a desperate voice.

He'd sounded so lost. He'd sounded so helpless.

 _'Please'._

That word, that _tone_ – it reminded him of how Apollo had sounded not a few hours earlier.

All the things it said, it _meant_ – _Please let me in, let me feel something,_ anything, _not this, not cold, not this unbearable coldness. Please,_ please…

Something in him flickered – _changed_ – when he heard that word.

It was too much. It was too close. The wound was too fresh. It burned to touch it.

 _'Gavin.'_

That's what he had called him.

It was cruel, he knew, but he was curious. He had wanted to see how the younger man would react. A light jab to remind him where they stood with each other. He'd expected a flinch or a glare. But all he saw was the man's hands clench by his sides.

It didn't make him feel any better.

 _'Klavier.'_

That was his name.

The man standing in the empty hallway deserved that, at least. It sounded better, somehow too. It meant 'piano', didn't it? What a cruel irony that he had played that damned instrument for seven years in his darkest moments. He almost smirked.

 _'Herr Wright.'_

That's what he called him.

It sounded wrong. Accompanied by the man's unnatural hesitance only made the discomfort coil tighter in his stomach. He didn't want to see him like this.

He hadn't wanted to see him at all. But he also knew he couldn't leave him. _Objection!_ His mind shouted, _you just contradicted yourself!_ A tired chuckle left him at his own antics. _That may be, but…_

 _'It's not like we're friends.'_

It wasn't an accusation, but a fact.

He saw the man tense and his eyes flickered down to the younger man's hands, where his nails were digging harshly into his palms. From what he could see in the dim light, his face held no pain.

No, it contained such an unbearable amount of sadness.

The silence would've been calm if it weren't so cold.

Before he could say something _('Like what?' His mind hissed)_ , the younger man began to speak brokenly. His voice strained with unshed tears echoed down the halls, the loudest sound he could hear. His voice hurt to listen to. It tugged at his heartstrings the same way it had for Athena in the Detention Center, Trucy after her father had left and Apollo, _Apollo –_

The hesitant question snapped him back to the present.

 _'May I…?'_

It was a simple question – it wasn't even complete – but the coil of discomfort tightened once again. It was too hesitant, too desperate. It didn't match the confident image that seemed permanently attached to the younger man's face. He shouldn't have been standing awkwardly in an apartment complex hallway looking lost, talking to the one man who he had the least business associating with.

He wanted to say it was wrong. That he shouldn't be here. But he couldn't.

It would be too cold. And it was cold enough already.

He was even more surprised when he'd grabbed his arm in an iron grip, as if he'd disappear if he let go. Staring into desperate eyes, he looked like a lost child, not the man who ruined his life.

No. No, he wasn't the one who ruined him. He narrowed his eyes. It was **_his_** fault. The man so desperately grasping at his arm, looking like he would collapse, was just as much a victim as he.

After a few false starts and the forgotten circulation in his arm, broken, the man finally choked out:

 _'I don't want to be alone.'_

He smoothed his face into pleasant blankness to shadow his surprise at the words.

The words felt light and warm on the cold night. If only for a little while.

But he surprised himself with his own words he couldn't stop from coming out.

"Come in."

He found himself smiling as he let the man in.

It felt warm.

…

But only a little.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

Was it weird that I told Klavier's chapter as it happened, and Phoenix's retrospectively? Tell me.

Please leave a review to tell me what I could do to improve or just tell me that it sucked! _(or it didn't.)_

Honesty appreciated!

TBC

Next time, it's back to Klavier~

~Rei K.


	3. Chapter 3

_Hey, People of the Internet._

 _Sorry for the really-not-really update schedule. (does this even count as a schedule?)_

 _As an apologies for taking a while to write something, here's a extra long chapter just for you guys!_

 _But you don't want to hear (read?) me talking (typing?), so let's get on with it!_

 _ **WARNING:** Panic attacks (btw, I only have a vague idea on how these work and affect people, so if this portrayal is incorrect please don't kill me)_

 _Onto the things that matter~_

* * *

Chapter 3

It was cold inside the room.

Even with the heating on, standing out in the dark hallway left his limbs stiff and his skin frigid. The warm flickering in his chest that arrived at the sight of the older man's kind eyes and small smile had dimmed and cold reality had shown itself.

…In the Wright's messy apartment.

...

He wasn't sure what he is expecting when he walked into the comforting warmth.

But it wasn't this.

Magic paraphernalia were scattered across any surface it could find and the coffee table littered with what seemed to be legal documents. Books were stacked on the floor and the shelves where they should've been were sprinkled with anything from loose change to rubber bands to paperclips, all covered in a fine layer of dust. He could still see some unpacked moving boxes.

He fought the instinctive frown at the clutter before his chest tightened when he realised it was his fault the man had to live like this. His eyes hazed over and his gaze landed on a piano he had missed in his initial sweep of the room, unsurprisingly, as it was practically buried underneath what had to be the Fraulein magician's show props. Was that a guillotine?

Eyes trailing upwards, ice shot through his veins and he struggled to swallow the bile that rose in his throat at the portrait carefully framed next to a candleholder, precariously propped on the lid of his namesake. A picture that twisted his insides and burned cruelly with the cold.

Zak Gramarye.

Shadi Enigmar.

Trucy's father and Wright's downfall.

His first case and his brother's victim.

He swore he could hear **_his_** laughs echoing in the back of his mind.

A voice snapped him out of his thoughts and he took a shuddering breath.

"Have a seat."

He straightened – he had unconsciously been curling in on himself – flashed what he hoped was a smile and stumbled to the couch as he tried to remember how to breathe.

The couch looked like it had seen better days. It was well-worn, but homey. Like it belonged.

Like it was _loved._

It was slightly lumpy, but soft.

It was warm.

His mind flashed to his own house – designer labels, plush carpet, gold trimming – he wouldn't dare call it _Home_.

It was too stiff, too lavish, too perfect, too empty, so _cold_ , so much like–

A shudder ripped through him as he heard manic laughter in the distance.

"Warm milk?"

His eyes jerked back to the other man and he inwardly cursed at their sudden blurriness. He blinked away the dampness and saw the other man staring at him with what seemed to be concern.

His mind raced – _how long was I staring? Did I blank out?_ – until he realised he had been asked a question. He prayed he didn't look foolish as he managed to unstick his tongue from the back of his throat, lick his cracked lips and choke out an intelligible reply.

"Ah, no thank you. I'm fine. Thank you." He took a breath. "Really."

The man raised a single eyebrow, as if to say _'really?'_

"Really."

He repeated, answering the unasked question.

The man either didn't hear him or didn't care as he already had a mug in hand and was pouring milk into it. He was guessing it was the latter. He was about to protest, but then he began talking.

"Sorry about the mess. I know it's not exactly up to your standards of cleanliness."

No, it wasn't, but it was still better than the cold emptiness he felt at his house.

"I would offer you something else but milk's already out and it isn't the best time for coffee."

He watched the other man carefully. He wasn't looking at him, but wasn't exactly looking at what his hands were doing either. He seemed to be gazing into the distance with a soft smile on his lips, as if reminiscing on an old memory.

He looked happy.

A chilling cold clawed at his heart at the realisation.

 _Maybe I shouldn't have come here. He's happy. Look at him – perfectly happy. You shouldn't drag him down with your problems. You have no right to take that away from him. You'll just ruin it. Ruin_ him _._

 ** _His_** laughs echoed louder in his ears. _'Didn't you already?'_ Kristoph taunted.

He could feel his nails biting painfully into his palms, knuckles white from pressure. He could feel his whole body tremble, floodgates about to burst. His own breaths were loud in his ears and Kristoph's mocking laughter seemed to get louder and louder.

He could see **_his_** face – glasses gleaming and mouth twisted into a crazed smirk.

 _'You're spinning out of control.'_ The voice was exactly like he remembered. _'Calm yourself Klavier… before you do something you'll regret.'_

But he was out of control wasn't he? He certainly wasn't calm.

 _'You're mad, Klavier.'_ His breath hitched. No, Kristoph had never said this to him. _'If I wasn't laughing, I'd weep.'_ He had been the one to say this to his brother, not the other way around.

 _'Oh?'_ _ **His**_ voice sneered. _'But look at you, so like me. Imitation is the highest form of flattery, no? And look at how much we share.'_

 _I am nothing like you!_ He wanted to scream.

 _'I trained you, Klavier, I_ raised _you.'_

A broken sob left his throat, memories of growing, side by side as brothers, flashing past his eyes.

 _'You grew into such a willing pet, a beautiful pawn. Do you really think you can escape my influence?'_

He didn't know. Could he? He was part of **_his_** plan from the start.

 _'You were always so easy, so eager to follow every step. Don't you realise it was me who told you to take the prosecutor's bench, and see, how glad you were to blindly follow my instruction?'_

And he did. He'd trusted Kristoph. So blindly. So _faithfully._ Like some kind of dog – it made him sick.

 _'What an idea, to think you were acting on your own!'_

Was there ever a time where he acted on his own? He didn't know.

 _'You were a tool, nothing more than a connection to give me power in the Prosecutor's Office.'_

He had done that hadn't he? For seven long years, Kristoph pulled the strings in the background, careful not to trip, as he asked for Klavier to look the other way as he deconstructed lives, and him blissfully unaware, obeying his every order under the guise of a simple favour from a brother.

 _'And that's all you'll ever be, Klavier. You'll grow to be exactly like me, my dear little brother.'_

No, Kristoph wasn't his brother.

 _'You're_ mine. _'_

He was only Kristoph's slave.

…

It felt so cold.

…

And he _hated_ it.  
-

A vicious snarl left his clenched teeth as his face twisted in hatred, teeth bared and eyes red from unshed tears. His freezing hands flew to his head and clawed at his already dishevelled hair, throwing it into further disarray. His bleeding palms left streaks of red in the golden strands as his nails gripped his scalp.

He could feel the floodgates bursting.

He was angry.

He was sad.

He was so _cold_ and so ready to _scream_ at the _damn_ voice still echoing in his head.

He pulled so violently at his hair he was sure it would rip.

To rip out the twisted braid like it would rip his brother out of him.

"Klavier!"

 ** _He_** was dead.

 ** _He_** was _DEAD._

 ** _He_** had no control over his life now.

 ** _He_** was gone, and wasn't coming back.

"Klavier, _please,_ I'm running out of options–!"

Kristoph was _DEAD._

 ** _He_** couldn't do anything to him anymore.

Kristoph couldn't–

 _"KLAVIER!"_

…

He blinked.

His cheek stung.

He had been slapped.

Phoenix Wright had slapped him in the face.

Eyes wide, he turned his head to look at the other man.

In the dim light and blurry vision, he could make out the man's eyes darted between both of his, swirling with confusion, panic, concern, worry and an emotion he couldn't quite place.

His brows were drawn, making his face look older, more haggard.

Like a man who had seen hell and lived.

One of his hands were clutching almost desperately to a patch of hoodie at the man's chest, the other was being held by the wrist in a death grip by the man in front of him.

He swallowed and opened his mouth to say something.

But he didn't have to.

"Thank _god_."

The man dropped his wrist and pulled him into a hug.

His eyes widened further as he found himself with a face full of the man's chest and large arms wrapped around him comfortably in an embrace.

He couldn't think.

He couldn't _breathe_.

…

It was so _warm.  
-_

He relaxed into the hold, forgetting everything.

His muscles ached from the long periods of tenseness, his scalp and palms still stinging from their previous assult.

He forgot who he was, who he was with, and their history together.

He didn't care.

He breathed in the other man's scent – it smelled like _home_.

He buried his face into the other man's chest, basking in the newfound warmth, _feeling_ it.

When was the last time he had been hugged?

As much as he loved them, fans were strangers, he'd had an image to keep for the band, and _Kristoph_ …

He cried.

All the tears he had bottled up inside of him.

He cried them all.

He felt the arms tighten around him, pulling him closer.

But it wasn't controlling, or caging.

No, it was gentle, but firm.

 _Protecting._

 _Comforting._

 _Warm._

He felt conflicted, taking it from the man he had ruined, yet, he longed for the closeness – the _warmth_ – he provided, willingly offered, he _needed_.

His hands fisted in the other man's hoodie, tears staining the fabric, as he heard the man's soft words of, "Shh, it's okay," and, "It's okay to cry," whispered into his hair.

It wasn't so cold anymore.

"I know it doesn't feel okay, but it will be."

He pulled away and looked into the other man's eyes.

They were soft and kind.

Part of him wanted to object – _he wouldn't look at you like that, you_ ruined _him –_ but he didn't care.

He wanted to believe this man.

Believe that it really would be okay.

That _he_ would be okay.

And even if he wasn't, he could at least feel something other than unbearable coldness.

That he could be _warm._

…

Even if it lasted only a moment.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

How was that?

I admit this chapter actually took a weird turn half through when I was writing it. I was going to write in one direction, then panicattack!Klavier kind of took over.

I will say that I don't actually have any proper knowledge of panic attacks so don't hate me if I'm wrong about how those work.

Believe it or not, there was actually going to be heaps more dialogue between Phoenix and Klavier with Klavier trying to explain his guilt and fumbling, but then I started writing Kristoph and he kind of just took over, demanding I drive his little bro to tears.

Btw, Kristoph is actually one of my favorite characters _(he's so interesting, you know?)_ so don't think I hate him by my portrayal of his character _(I actually never imagined him this evil - in my mind he really does love his brother - but this is how Klavier THINKS his brother sees him, so...)._

Also, sorry for probably _incredibly_ OoC Klavier.

Please leave a review to tell me what I could do to improve or just tell me that it sucked! _(or it didn't.)_

Honesty appreciated!

TBC

Next time we see Phoenix side~

 _(hey, whatever happened to that warm milk?)_

~Rei K.


	4. Chapter 4

_Hey, People of the Internet._

 _So, uhh... this is late... (what does that even mean?)_

 _But-! But, here is the next chapter._

 _I've been busy lately with work._

 _So yeah._

 _Also, the rating went up (because panic attacks?) and minor edits to previous chapters (like seriously minor, don't even bother)._

 _Shout out to_ **DigitalStoryteller** , **SunnyNessie** , _and that_ Anon Gues _t for reviewing!_  
 _I really appreciate you guys' (is that right?) feedback and encouragement._  
 _There's stuff for you at the end~_

 _Also_ **genjousanzossister** _for the favorite!_  
 _That seriously means a lot to me. (*sniffle* You guys...)_

 _Long chapter this time._

 _Onto the story~_

* * *

Chapter 4

It was cold inside the room.

Even with the heating on, standing for what felt like hours having a something he wouldn't even call a 'conversation' with the guy who had basically ruined his life wasn't exactly what he would call warming. But the younger man's tired, lifeless eyes showed him the cold reality he was trying so hard to ignore.

 _Even dead,_ he growled internally, _you're still causing grief._

...

He didn't know what he was expecting to do when he let the other man into his home.

But it wasn't this.

The apartment was messy, he knew. Trucy had taken the liberty of 'decorating' the room with her props and it certainly didn't have the professionalism it once did as Mia's office.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see the other man sweep the room with his eyes. Not that he could blame him, some things he found he wasn't exactly sure of where they came from.

He had been staring at the ceiling before he had arrived, and the spare blanket that he had been using as Apollo used his bed lay limply on the ground, all previous heat probably lost to the frigid cold.

He sighed.

He didn't hate the man – he _couldn't_.

How could he, when he knew it wasn't his fault?

He was just another pawn in Kristoph's sick little game of revenge.

A pawn that delivered a fatal blow.

A pawn that was the Chess Master's brother.

A pawn that turned on his trusted King.

A pawn that came to him, broken and on the verge of tears, for comfort.

It hurt, he knew, when you were betrayed by one you thought loved you – one you loved in return.

 _A white parasol, barely concealed disgust – dainty hands sliding through smooth red locks._

 _'Feenie…'_

No, he didn't hate the man.

There were only some people worth that much resentment.

The younger man may not have been his friend, but perhaps he could understand…

"Have a seat."

It was generic – something to start off with.

He turned around, catching Klavier's glassy eyes jerk away from something he had been staring at. The other man gave him a strained smile, and he felt himself frown.

You knew it was bad when _Klavier Gavin_ couldn't even stand up straight.

He heard him take a shuddering breath and he followed his gaze to where the younger man had been staring. His eyes widened at the sight Klavier had seen.

Shadi Enigmar – Trucy's father.

A lump formed in his throat as he felt his heart go out to the man sitting on his busted up couch.

He clenched his jaw and refrained from grinding his teeth.

 _Damn you, Kristoph._

He threw a quick glance back at the other man and coughed lightly to get his attention, but also to get rid of the oppressing tightness in his throat.

He looked like he was about to cry.

"Warm milk?"

He cursed at his sudden question, not wanting to startle the man with pleasantness after years of dismissive stares and nonchalant brush-offs.

He watched on with concern as he saw the man jerk once again and lock eyes with him – a cold, almost haunted look in his wide eyes.

The other man opened his mouth as if to say something, before closing them again, licking his lips and giving a halting reply in a voice that sounded strained with tears.

"Ah, no thank you. I'm fine. Thank you." A beat. "Really."

He raised his eyebrows at the response.

"Really."

The man's voice was stronger this time, betraying nothing.

And how much he desperately wanted to believe it.

But time had taught him that when someone tells you that they're 'fine', they really aren't, and just like Apollo before him, hiding one's emotions could only work as relief for so long before you'd crack.

He couldn't blame him, really.

He'd done exactly the same thing.

It was hard, he knew, to let someone in, to let them see you – actually _see_ you for the first time.

Hands working on automatic, he began speaking, if only to cover the increasing discomfort he felt.

"Sorry about the mess. I know it's not exactly up to your standards of cleanliness."

Talk was mundane, it didn't mean anything. Just mindless chatter to distract from the things that should matter, but instead ignored. It wasn't a good solution, far from ideal, but it was enough.

 _It had to be enough._

"I would offer you something else but milk's already out and it isn't the best time for coffee."

 _Although,_ he thought, _I know someone who'd object to that._

Thoughts of a coffee loving prosecutor came to mind, a soft smile coming to his face at the nostalgic feeling – pushing back the coil of discomfort with a flood of warmth he hadn't felt in years.

 _Mia…_ _Just when did everything go wrong?_

 _Where did_ I _go wrong?_

He fought to urge to run a hand through his hair as he waited for the milk to warm.

He would instinctively try to smooth out his spikes when nervous – a tick he hadn't known he had until Apollo had pointed it out to him. It would never flatten them of course, but the repetitive movement helped slow his heart palpitations if he did it long enough so he could get his head together or at least _breathe_.

 _What would you do, Chief? How would you contain the remaining damage after they guy who screwed over your family was finally dead, but not out of the picture…?_

He smiled, warmth flowing through him once again, almost as if Mia were right there with him.

The microwave chimed and he was snapped out of his reverie.

He stole a quick glance at his visitor to see him hunched over, seeming like he was about to collapse in on himself, and shoulders tense with what he could only assume was nervous energy.

He frowned and carefully cradled the warm mug with its steaming contents to the couch.

 _Perhaps I shouldn't have left him alone so soon._

He walked over and carefully placed the mug on the coffee table over some documents, turning to sit next to the other man on the couch, his eyes widened when he saw the blood dripping from his palms from the force of his nails digging into them.

He eyes darted up to Klavier's face, almost afraid of what he might see.

His heart almost stopped, ice flowing through his veins.

Jaw obviously clenched, the tendons defined on the skin, face pale, but simultaneously flushed, cold sweat pasting strands of the usually golden hair to his face in a dull frame, breathing shallow and uneven – but that wasn't what frightened him.

It was his eyes.

Normally a clear blue, driven and determined eyes seemed out-of-focus, staring into the distance with a faraway look, eyes glassy and haunted, pupils blown and shimmering with unshed tears. They were red and empty – hollow – as if he was moments away from snapping.

The floodgates holding in all his emotion, struggling under the weight.

His mind went blank, unable to do anything but stare at the other man's haunted expression.

It was so cold.

There was a single twitch, a whisper that he wasn't sure was even there.

"You're _mine_."

…

He broke.

He struggled to react when a vicious growl tore itself from the younger man's lips, a downright murderous expression taking over the haunted one. White-knuckled hands flying to his hair, clawing at his scalp, leaving bloody trails.

Snarling in a predatory fashion at an unseen enemy, he seemed so intent on tearing out the strands completely, as if tearing out his braid would tear away his pain.

Would tear Kristoph away from him.

Finally getting his brain to work, he did the only thing he could think of.

"Klavier!"

His mind raced with possible routes to take, mind unhelpfully flashing back to Apollo and the attorney's behaviour from earlier that night.

He knew the name.

Panic attacks.

He grit his teeth in part frustration, part desperation.

He knew what people could do when they felt it was the best option. He knew what people were capable of, given the right circumstances, given how low they'd fallen.

He immediately grabbed the younger man's wrists, yanking them away from his scalp to prevent any more damage. But the man's arms were tense, muscles tight with anxiety and he struggled to pry them away from the man's no doubt bleeding head, both gently enough not to startle, but firm enough so they couldn't reattach themselves to his scalp.

But apparently he did because he was met with another inhuman growl, teeth bared like an animal, spit flying from dried lips.

"Klavier, please, I'm running out of options–!"

The other man's hand shot out and flew towards him.

He almost thought the man was about to punch him, but instead it latched onto the front of his hoodie, hold so tight enough to choke. Eyes wide, but not relinquishing his hold on the younger man's wrists, his mind flew through all the choices he could make.

He was shuddering.

Everything felt so unbearably cold.

He was afraid he'd wake Trucy and Apollo at this rate, but that wasn't important.

The younger man was now visibly trembling, face twisted with hatred and whispering what sounded closely like; _'he's dead, he's dead, he's dead'_ , in a mantra through harsh breaths, eyes locked with his but staring straight through him.

He didn't know what to do.

 _"KLAVIER!"_

…

His voice seemed to echo around the apartment, resounding through the walls with the sound of impact between his hand and the other man's cheek.

There was a silent pause as both their shallowed breaths became the loudest sounds in the room.

The younger man's breaths were still harsh and irregular, and his own heart thudding in his chest.

The man turned to him with a look of undisguised shock, looking more genuine than he had ever seen the man before, apparently still processing the fact that he had indeed hit him.

His eyes were still wet, red and glassy, but no longer hollow and faraway as they used to be.

And that was enough for him.

"Thank _god_."

Working on pure instinct, he pulled the still stunned younger man into a hug, dropping the man's now limp wrist and wrapping his arms around him, effectively pushing his face into his chest.

He didn't care about who he was or what had happened between them.

All he knew is that the man in his arms was cold and hurting, and came to _him_ for comfort.

So that's what he would give.

He felt the man go limp in his arms and took it as a good sign. He pulled him closer, warming him.

The younger man was just so _cold_.

How long had he been like this?

He felt the man seem to bury his head deeper into his chest and, forgetting himself, he lay his head to rest on top of Klavier's, whispering "Shh, it's okay," and, "It's okay to cry," on repeat as the man began to sob quietly into his hoodie.

His grip tightened fractionally, eyes softening, as he repeated the same words he had used before.

"I know it doesn't feel okay, but it will be."

The younger man shifted, pulling away and looking into his eyes, expression wide-eyed and grateful, open – _believing._

And that's what he had to do – get him _believing_ he could be okay

That he _would_ be okay.

That he could escape the oppressive cold.

That he would feel warmth if he wanted to.

…

Even if it lasted only a moment.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

 _Ugh_ , that was actually hard to write.

Not the actual story but _geez_ , that took a long time.

On a side note, that one part, near the beginning, with the Phoenix-running-his-hand-through-spikes-to-try-to-flatten-them-because-panic-thing is actually an idea I got from reading **'there's a part I can't tell about the dark I know well'** _(that title grammar though... jks I love it)_ by **orphan_account** on A03 (it's got explicit non-con Klavier/Apollo and Phoenix/Apollo, so if you're okay with that, go read it!) It's really good.

A word to my reviewers!

 **Anon Guest:** Thank you very much! I agree the hug _was_ kind of sudden (I have no idea where that even came from, it really _did_ come out of left field), but it was still works right? Hope you enjoyed this chapter just as much and looking forward to the next one.

 **SunnyNessie:** Thanks, I'm glad you like my writing style! _(You wouldn't be reading it if you didn't, right?)_ I'm actually more a fan of Apollo angst XD, but I choose to write Klavier in this story because you don't see much of him and Phoenix (as apposed to Apollo - Phoenix interaction anyway). Sorry for the long wait, but I hoped you enjoyed it. The next chapter _should_ be out sooner (emphasis on 'should'), but thanks for your apparently undying devotion!

 **DigitalStoryteller:** Really?! Wow, thank you so much! (my writing style always did have its detractors) I always did see Phoenix and Klavier's relationship as strained, even in Dual Destinies _(like, was it just me, or did it seem like Klavier was purposefully avoiding Phoenix in Turnabout Academy? They should have bumped into each other_ at least _once, but no - Klavier only appear when he isn't there)_ , especially since they never show if they've made up or not.

Thank you guys once again for all the support _blah blah blah_ , but the TIME OUT OF YOUR DAY to actually READ this.

Please leave a review to tell me what I could do to improve or just tell me that it sucked! _(or it didn't.)_

Honesty appreciated!

TBC

Next chapter: Warm milk actually becomes prevalent!

~Rei K.


	5. warmth update and situation

**UPDATE**

Sorry, not a chapter.

My dearest People of the Internet, I'm deeply regret my horrible update schedule, as this story has been idle for about 3 months now.

Do know that _no,_ this story is not abandoned, but is now on hiatus.

I actually had planned to keep up with the timetable I set myself, but shortly after I posted chapter 4, things went crazy for me.

A lot of things happened all at once and I ended up in a mental state where I was unable to do anything. _(and no, not just me being lazy)_

This story will be put on hold until I get get my sh- _*ahem*_ stuff sorted out.

In the meantime, I'm attempting to pump out a bunch of one-shots I can easily manage, as well as my lingering Detective Conan / Magic Kaito fanfic I finally decided to call 'Red'.

You can see the list of fandoms I'm planning to make fics for on y profile under Current Projects.

Consider them my Christmas gifts to you guys for reading my work, which, that in and of itself is a really great motivator for me _(I mean, people reading what I write, like, legit_ _ **reading**_ _the stuff I spend my time on)._

So thanks for all the reviews, favorites and follows, and I hope you guys will stick around and not hate me for not delivering.

Merry (early) Christmas!

~Rei K.


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